


Dark Little Heaven Under the Stairs

by calrissian18



Series: this shouldn't even be here [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asshole Stiles, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Unrequited Crush, tumblr!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stay here.” </p>
<p>Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, splitting up?  Did you get that plan from someone with brain damage and a death wish?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Little Heaven Under the Stairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barbayat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbayat/gifts).



> Pt. 4 of the tumblr!fic series. My good friend Barb asked me to write: "Stiles accidentally catching Lydia/Peter making out." Because she is a het and a Pydia shipper and I just have NO IDEA what to even do with that. *headdesks* I, er, tried?
> 
> [Original post](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/post/68603959193/stupid-getting-longer-things-grr-buuuut).

Stiles turned around, shoving his shoulder into Isaac’s chest to get him to back off.  He barely resisted flailing.  “Stop touching me,” he whined.

Isaac rolled his eyes with a huff, backing out of the corner a little, his arms braced on either side of Stiles’ shoulders but not  _technically_  touching him.  “I’m not touching you.”

Stiles poked his head around the stairwell to look down the hall.  “Stop breathing on me,” he hissed, feeling Isaac’s hot, panting breaths on his neck and trying not to let himself get panicky over it.  He hadn’t even seen bombshell Asian chick in the last twenty minutes.  Yet he was still shoved under the staircase with Isaac, trying to blend in with the spider webs.

“Stop complaining,” Isaac growled.  He dug his elbow into Stiles’ stomach as he tried to move away from the back corner and Stiles let out a wounded catch of breath.

“Oh my God, I hate you so much I want to claw your eyes out,” Stiles snarked.

Isaac glowered at him.  “I’m not exactly thrilled about this.”  His gaze flitted away from Stiles’ to stare up at the gross underside of the staircase.  He said, more to himself, “Small, confined space and stuck with the Pack’s dead weight besides.” 

Stiles held up a finger.  “One, not confined – the opening is right over there,” he pointed down the hall and then tightened his jaw and held up a second finger.  “Two, you’re a dick.” 

Isaac sneered at him.  “I thought you liked dick.” 

Stiles’ eyes widened and his heart clenched painfully as Isaac’s words sunk in.  He stared down at his hands, lips pursing.  Well.  That was that then.  Isaac knew, which meant Derek was bound to.  Which meant Stiles was just as pathetic as he’d always suspected.

Isaac cleared his throat.

Stiles didn’t look up.

“I’m not going to say anything to him,” Isaac said uneasily.

“Fuck off,” Stiles bit back tightly, feeling the sheen over his eyes starting to waver and threaten to fall.  Fuck, he wasn’t going to do this.  He still had  _some_  fucking dignity left.

Isaac let out a long, steady breath.  “Stiles.”

“I said ‘fuck off,’ Isaac.  God, do you need to be beaten into following simple directions?”

They both froze as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  Stiles could hear the beat of Isaac’s heart in the small space and Isaac actually flinched back, trying to move away from him.

Stiles couldn’t believe he’d said it.  He got out blankly, shocked by his own runaway mouth, “I shouldn’t have said that.  I—That was—”

Isaac blinked owlish eyes at him.  “See,” he started hoarsely, “if I decided to claw  _your_  eyes out, it might actually get done.”  His claws pricked against Stiles’ sides to make his point before he drew them away.

Stiles swallowed.  “Maybe we should just stop talking.”

“Maybe we should,” Isaac agreed snottily.

Stiles tried not to let it get at him that Isaac had gotten the last word.  He clenched his fingers in frustration, and in an effort to keep from stealing it back.

The silence stretched between them and Stiles tried to will Derek into texting them the all clear.  His ears were strained for the sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket when Isaac snapped, “Stop breathing like that.”

Stiles huffed in exasperation.  “Like what?” he drawled.  “Like it’s necessary to live?”

“Like a fucking pteranodon.”

Stiles pulled a face.  “Are those even known for breathing loudly?”  And this was Isaac picking a fight.  Badly.  Because Isaac didn’t pick fights.  He hid under the bed and cowered so what the fuck was—Stiles caught sight of Isaac’s wide and terrified eyes and realized Isaac needed the distraction.  The claustrophobic space was starting to gnaw at him.  “Oh, um, okay.”  Stiles searched around for a safe topic.  He didn’t really know much of anything about Isaac.  The little that he did he’d already thrown back in his face, like a champ.  “So, how’s it going with Allison?  Doesn’t look like she’s decided to cut your face off and wear it as her own yet.”

Isaac perked an eyebrow at him.  “You really don’t like her,” he said searchingly, like he was only just realizing it.

Stiles shrugged.  “She never said word one about going all Glenn Close on Erica and Boyd last year.  And now they’re dead,” he said flatly.  “Maybe it’d be different if she had.” 

“You never said anything to Scott,” Isaac pointed out.

“Scott’s a puppy,” Stiles said but Isaac kept right on staring at him, like he knew that wasn’t the real reason.  Stiles licked his lower lip and added, “And I would have lost him if I had.”

Isaac smirked.  “Not worried about losing me?” he said in his douchebaggiest voice, probably channeling Jackson.

Stiles snorted.  “I’d have to have you first.”  And for some reason the words brought the reality of their situation into stark relief, like John Madden was in a booth somewhere drawing Jesus fish around them and calling them circles.  Isaac’s arm was shoved up under Stiles’ armpit and their heads weren’t all that far away and Stiles hadn’t ever been this close to a dude who wasn’t Scott.  He swallowed and noticed the way Isaac’s eyes dropped to track the bob of his throat.  “Isaac—” he started, breathy, when Isaac went tense and his eyes flashed gold.  “What is it?” Stiles asked, shaking himself out of whatever the fuck  _that_  insanity was.

Isaac extricated himself from Stiles and shifted out from under the staircase.  “I heard something,” he said tightly.  He turned back to look at Stiles.  “Stay here.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, splitting up?  Did you get that plan from someone with brain damage and a death wish?”

Isaac stared at him, lips pursed, before he nodded once.  “Stay close.”

“Did that really need to be said?” Stiles asked, annoyed.

Isaac didn’t bother to answer as he crept carefully down the hall, Stiles sticking close to his back.  Isaac walked them down the steps to the floor below and paused outside the music room.  It was a second before Stiles could quiet the harshness of his own breathing and make out that there were words being spoken just beyond the door.

He and Isaac crept around the lip of it.  Peter and Lydia were standing in the middle of the room, the empty chairs facing them as though they were the maestros of this symphony.  Lydia was supposed to be up on the third floor and Peter was supposed to be off plotting the demise of the Lollipop Kids or whatever the hell he did with his free time.

Peter reached down and stroked her cheek, all creepy and pedophile-like.  Lydia’s gaze stayed defiant even as she flinched away from him.  “Poor Lydia,” he tsked, “fallen down the rabbit hole and with no idea what kind of darkness waits just around the corner.”  His lips smoothed into a tight smile.  “I know you wondered why it was  _you_  I used to pull me back from death.”

“Because you knew,” she said with certainty.  Her voice was scratchy as though sleep had been eluding her for days.  “You knew exactly what I was and you didn’t say one word about it.  You were saving it,” she said sharply, “until you could use it.”

Peter’s brows rose.  “Well, knowledge  _is_  power,” he drawled.  “Besides,” he smirked, “we wouldn’t want you to find out what you were capable of ahead of schedule.”

Lydia’s eyes glittered boldly.  “I won’t let you use me.”

Peter’s smirk widened into a full grin.  “If past experience dictates future events,” he leaned in close to her, lowering his voice, “then it doesn’t seem like you have much choice.”  The words had gone hushed and soft and he sealed his lips over hers as soon as the last one was out.  Stiles would have expected her to fight, rage, anything other than make a surprised sound in the back of her throat and tilt her chin up to better meet Peter’s mouth.

Yep, that was three for three on worst tonsil-hockey teammates ever, their Lyds.  Jackson, Aiden and – just when you thought it couldn’t get worse –  _Peter_.

Stiles stumbled back into Isaac, floundering against him in his efforts to just  _stop seeing_  Lydia in a lip-lock with a recently dead dude.  Seriously,  _Peter_?  Dude would give Iago a run for his money as world’s smarmiest, most conniving bastard.

Isaac lifted him up under his armpits and practically dragged him out of the room and into the hallway.

Stiles slumped against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.  “Oh fuck, that was so disturbing.”  He dragged his tongue against his teeth in an effort to rid it of the terrible taste.  “I am so epically disturbed.  There’s a bad taste in my mouth and tell me she’s kneed him in the nuts by now?” 

Isaac poked his head around the corner and pulled back with his nose wrinkled.  “’Fraid not.”

Stiles groaned.  “Oh my God.  I think I threw up a little in my mouth.”  He looked at Isaac beseechingly.  “Has it stopped yet?  Tell me it’s stopped.”

Isaac looked again and, when he reported back, his chin was reared in against his neck and he said, voice pinched, “It’s stopped.” 

Stiles pulled a face.  “You’re lying to make me feel better.  You are a prince among men,” he whimpered, scrabbling against Isaac’s shoulders.  “Oh God, that is going to  _haunt_  me.  You could see the  _visible_  slide of their tongues—” he shook his head, “oh no, that’s making it worse.  I’m making it worse.  You said you’d claw my eyes out, I am  _so_  giving you the go ahead.  I mean, I am going to have nightmares, my brain is going to choose this rare moment to have laser-focus and just—”

Isaac’s lips stopped his mid-ramble.  His hand tipped Stiles’ neck up so he could better slot their mouths together and his thumb jerked Stiles’ chin forward, forcing his jaw open so he could feed Stiles his tongue.  Stiles let out an embarrassing little moan before he managed to pull away.

“What are you doing?”  His voice was stupidly breathless and, God, was it shaking, too?

Isaac looked a little dazed, his hands falling to Stiles’ hips, thumbs brushing the skin between the bottom of his shirt’s hem and the top of his jeans.  “Distracting you.”  His mouth dropped down to Stiles’ throat before he moved back up to Stiles’ ear, letting his lower lip drag the entire length of the journey.  “How’m I doing?”

A slow smile spread over Stiles’ lips and he pulled Isaac close, saying, “I’ll let you know,” just before he fitted their mouths together again.


End file.
